this is why i know i could never scrapbook

I've debated what to write about the remainder of summer and these first few weeks back. (I can't figure out if I just have way too much to say, or, more likely, nothing profound or fascinating enough to mention.)  Maybe a recap of summer travels? Nope, who would read that? An apology for once again allowing such a long lapse of time between this and my last entry? No, too nice, redundant, and once again, who really cares?  So, I've landed on...
a good word
a few pics
& a kid's poem

"The true character of the loveliness that tells for God is always unconscious.  Conscious influence is priggish and un-Christian.  If I say--I wonder if I am of any use--I instantly lose the bloom of the touch of the Lord.  'Whoever believes in me, streams of living water will flow from within him'...In the Christian life the implicit is never conscious; if it is conscious, it ceases to have this unaffected loveliness which is the characteristic of the touch of Jesus." 

I've recently returned to My Utmost for His Highest, a devotional I had previously only grazed over. But WOW- he delivers a powerful word. I am being severly humbled by the meatiness of each day's reading. As Oswald so frankly puts it, when I attempt to be or do "Christian", I am simply a flat, moralistic being void of any life-giving power.  When I am fully yielded to Christ and surrendered to Him in my poverty, He fills me and flows through me in a way that is Life and Breath.  Not conjured up, but real, authentic. 

And now, meet the newest addition to our family!  Still back in the states with my parents, Beaux will hopefully be joining us mid-September. 
cute as a beauxtton
lovin' the boat

   can't wait for him to get here...
the other nephew, Bryson, at his last t-ball game

a few of my favorites

We're back in school, which, as the middle school English teacher, means I'm already under an ever-mounting pile of journal entries, vocab quizzes, and rough drafts.  Quite often, though, I'm floored by my kids' writing.  Kids who write way better than they realize.  To kick off this year's writing workshop, we studied George Ella Lyons' famous "Where I'm From" poem.  We then each followed suit and wrote our own, examining our roots, spoken messages, the power of place, and legacy.  I thought I might share one with you. Brought to you in her original spelling, this one's by a new 6th grader who recently moved from New York back to her place of birth.  

I am from New York to Jarabacoa
and from great old serverinos deli
I am from hot sandy summers
and cold icey winters
I am from Picking strawberrys at ben’s granja

I am from Grandma Juanita
and rice and beans with chicken
I am from vanilla ice cream
I’m from sitting in the porch intill dawn
I am from don’t tell you’re sister what to do
and don’t leave your homework for last.
I am from savior’s shop

I am from Garden man Jose
and my Grandma Juanita who rased 6 children.
I am from Yaneris and Luis
I’m from forest park
and from yadi the trouble maker.

I’m from the golden familia
and from Mr. Goofy
I’m from Irma and Tiffany
I’m from Coney Island
and from Rock-n Roll